


Musical Education

by Redlance



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 00:16:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redlance/pseuds/Redlance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myka finds herself educating H.G. on the musical milestones of the last century and it's all going great, until Claudia catches wind of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musical Education

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters of Warehouse 13 do not belong to me, sadly. I’m just borrowing them for a while, but I’ll put them back once I’m done. 
> 
> A/N: So, I don’t really have an explanation for this one. I was listening to Boomwizard’s ‘So Very Obvious’ mix and apparently Bering and Wells like to stop by even when it’s a fanmix dedicated to a completely different pairing. Go figure. The song that evoked the inspiration for this fic just so happens to be Wham’s “Wake Me Up (Before You Go Go)”, so… brace yourself dear readers. Even I don’t know how to explain this one. Fluff ahead. ;)

    H.G. had missed out on a lot in the last hundred years or so. There had been mind-boggling leaps in the world of technology, wars had been waged and won, or lost, the movement for women’s rights had come such a very long way; and that was to name only a few of the things she’d missed. The number was, she suspected, likely uncountable and while she had access to pristine copies of daily newspapers that documented all manner of events spanning days gone by thanks to the Warehouse’s pack-rat nature, she’d found that certain things had to be experienced to be truly appreciated. Or thoroughly criticised.  
    Claudia had insisted that the internet and something called ‘laser tag’ were two things that fell into the former category, but H.G. had realised rather quickly that she did not like the smell of computers. She’d wrinkled her nose in distaste and then stood up from the chair set before the antique-looking desktop in Artie’s office, proclaiming that she wanted nothing to do with a machine that smelled so much like nothing at all, and that she’d much rather bury her nose in an encyclopedia any day of the week. The laser tag had indeed sounded quite intriguing until Claudia mentioned the words ‘crazy’ and ‘teenagers’ in the same sentence and it had become shockingly apparent during her few months ‘on the lamb’ that the twenty-first century was home to some of the most obnoxious children she’d ever had the misfortune of encountering. And so laser tag was out of the question for the foreseeable future, much to Claudia chagrin. The mental image of H.G. Wells surreptitiously prowling the floor of a sci-fi themed, black-light-illuminated laser tag arena had been spectacular. Maybe they could rent the place out, charge it to the Warehouse under the guise of 'training'. Artie would have her head.   
    Pete had taken it upon himself to introduce Helena to some of what he called ‘masterpieces of the silver screen’. After the first cinematic evenings, she’d come to the conclusion that having not been around to witness them wasn’t that bad of a thing after all. Quite a blessing, actually. Blockhead robots, aliens of the badly costumed and occasionally gelatinous kind, it all seemed very good on paper but there was something that seemed to have been lost in the translation to film, though she had been rather taken with the work behind the nineteen-thirty-three version of ‘King Kong’. To think that the ape was in reality a figure no more than eighteen inches in height was astonishing. Pete had stared at her a little confusedly, wondering how she could be impressed by something so menial in comparison to what movie makers were accomplishing with their CGI today. She’d argued that each feat was impressive in its own way, but he hadn’t seemed convinced and in an effort to prove the superiority of digitally rendered special effects, he’d thrown ‘Avatar’ into the Blu-ray player and offered her a pair of 3D glasses. He would profess his love for ‘Jason and The Argonauts’ and similarly shot cinematic features until he was blue in the face, but there was no denying the ‘awesomeness’ that had been made capable with the advent of digital technology. H.G. had argued that ‘awesomeness’ couldn’t possibly be a word, but Pete had assured her that if the Warehouse document editor didn’t throw a squiggly line at him, that meant it was a word. Helena hadn’t entirely understood that particular assertion and so she’d let him think he’d won the argument by lapsing into silence.   
    Myka had been the one to broach the topic of music, one afternoon that found them tackling inventory duty together; a rarity these days. Artie had quite literally banned them from working the Warehouse floor together, griping, rather vaguely, that they never got around to completing their allotted list of artifacts because they would inevitably end up gossiping about literature or get distracted by ‘other things’ and at the time they’d been too confused and embarrassed by his outburst to question him on it. They were still trying to figure out exactly how one could ‘gossip’ about literature of all things, when he’d begrudgingly told them that they’d have to take the hit together as Pete was out on the hunt with Claudia. Something about a bifurcated artifact, knives that could possibly have belonged to Jack the Ripper; Helena had appeared intrigued, but Myka had read enough about his gruesome exploits over the years and had neglected to hang around so Artie could regale them all with the history they already knew all too well. She wasn’t squeamish by any stretch of the imagination, but there was something about that specific case that just made her feel uneasy. And so Helena had followed in her wake and they’d begun the monotonous but not entirely unpleasant task of checking and rechecking artifact placements. Pete and Claudia both seemed to loathe it, but Myka had found she was endlessly amazed by the vast plethora of artifacts the Warehouse held. Things she’d read about as legends or in history books, things that had featured in fairy-tales that had been read to her when she’d been a child, they would just pop up on a shelf as if their existence wasn't mind-boggling. Endless wonder, indeed.   
    Myka had been reading over the electronic tag information for one of the earliest, and longest, recordings of The Beatles’ ‘Helter Skelter’ when she’d made an offhanded remark about how she’d always had a soft spot for the boys from Liverpool, noting that her mother had listened to them a lot while Myka was growing up. Distracted by a rather beautiful Fabergé egg, Helena had been unsure what little boys from Liverpool had to do with insects, other than the obvious, and had voiced her confusion. It had led to a discussion about the music industry and how it had changed and evolved over the last hundred years, and it had been nothing more than a pleasantly interesting conversation until Helena had brought Claudia up to speed the next day on everything she’d learnt. The tech-wiz had gone glassy-eyed and then almost hyperventilated herself into cardiac arrest over an idea that had seemingly hit her with all the force of a lightning bolt, but had remained unvoiced for a few long moments as she sputtered spasmodically and gasped for breath.   
    “Karaoke night!” She’d squealed, arms flailing out to her sides and palms spread wide in excitement. Myka had stared at her for a few heartbeats, face expressionless, and then had wordlessly turned on her heel and headed into the kitchen of the bed and breakfast in search of sanity. But Claudia, in true Claudia fashion, had taken the obvious rejection in stride and arched an eyebrow at H.G. “Well Sherlock, I didn’t hear a ‘no’.” And then she too had vacated the room, disappearing upstairs with a visible spring to her step, leaving H.G. more than a little concerned and utterly puzzled over what ‘karaoke’ was and why the mention of it had elicited such an ill-mannered response from Myka. She’d asked Myka later that night and had received a brief history on the pastime, and if she were being honest it did sound rather offensive to the ears. Helena did not have a particularly strong singing voice and the only person to hold the ‘honour’ of hearing her sing had been Christina and would remain so, unless some other child should wish to be sung to sleep.

* * *

    The remainder of the week passed with no mention of karaoke whatsoever and Myka had spent much of her downtime researching and compiling a list of some of the biggest productions the music industry had seen over the last century. Starting right from when H.G. had been bronzed and steadily making their way through the decades, Myka had educated Helena to the best of her ability, thinking it would be a shame for someone to miss out on something as potentially meaningful as music. It had a tendency to entice such powerful emotions in people and she would have hated for the inventor to jump from the more classical music to which she was accustomed, right into what the industry was pumping out now. And so, when they found themselves in the midst of a quiet moment at Leena’s or alone with the computer in Artie’s office, Myka browsed Youtube and a number of other sites and together they delved into the history of music. Helena found she rather enjoyed jazz, to a certain extent, and it was during a rousing performance of ABBA’s ‘Waterloo’ that she’d outwardly admitted to finding “rather charming” that Claudia swept into Myka’s bedroom entirely unannounced. Aghast, the taller agent stared at the redhead with wide eyes, mouth moving despite her uncooperative words.  
    “Knocking!” She finally sputtered, wildly waving a long arm out towards Claudia who regarded her with raised eyebrows and a slight tilt of her head. “Remember? That polite thing people do before barging into a room?” Then, lowering her voice a little, Myka’s gaze darted to the woman seated on a chair beside her, dark eyes still fixed on the screen of the laptop set up on the small desk in Myka’s room. “You could have walked in on something.” She said, words choppy as she flexed her jawbone and pushed them out through clenched teeth. Claudia pursed her lips for an instant.  
    “Yeah, your door was pretty much wide open and I could hear the sweethearts from Sweden as soon as I entered the hallway, so I really think that **had** any horizontal hanky-panky been going on, you would have been practically issuing an invite to come watch.” Claudia turned thoughtful then, seeming to disappear into her thoughts as she strode towards Myka’s bed and made herself comfortable by falling backwards onto it so that she was staring up at the ceiling. “Does that still apply?” Helena turned in her seat to observe the young woman lying with her legs hanging over the edge of the bed, feet absently swinging up and away from the frame every few seconds.   
    “To what are you referring, darling?” Helena asked before Myka could warn against it. No good could come of asking Claudia Donovan questions.   
    “Horizontal hanky-panky, specifically the horizontal part, and I don’t want to sound like an ignorant breeder because I’m totally not convinced that there's anyone alive that walks a path that is fixed in its straight and narrow, but is it pretty much the same? I mean I get the general idea, mechanically speaking, but there’s only so much you can imagine without trolling Pete’s browser history or having the hands-on experience, you know?” Myka flushed scarlet and H.G.’s expression remained maddeningly unchanged, save for the slight upturning of her lips; the suggestion of a smirk.   
    ”Ew! Claudia! No! Why are you imagining things?!” Myka said, fluster widening her eyes an instant before they narrowed. “Don’t do that!” Helena merely shook her head at Myka’s blushing, sparing her a glance before turning her attention to the redhead that had moved to prop herself up on her elbows and was now staring at them.  
    “Come Myka, it’s only natural to be curious about such things.” She couldn’t deny that, and Myka found herself stuttering wordlessly for a few seconds.  
    “Well, yeah, of course it is.” A verbal emendation it was, an acceptance of the question is was not. “But people are usually curious about those things in private. In their own bedroom. Non-verbally.” Green eyes became narrow once more as she threw a glance towards Claudia and while the redhead knew it was intended to be chastising, perhaps even threatening, her expression remained nonplussed as she huffed.  
    “Maybe back in your day, Mrs. Brady.” Her scoff was obviously meant as an insult, but H.G. missed the implication. “H.G., back me up here. If Miss Victorian Twenty-Twelve can talk about sex without batting an eyelid, then shouldn’t a strong, independent woman of the twenty-first century be able to discuss things of a slightly carnal nature without turning into a tomato?” She paused, raising an eyebrow in regards to Myka’s complexion. “Dude, are we sure there isn’t some artifact shenanigans going on right now? Because you seriously look like someone just slapped you with William Cobbett’s red herring.” Myka scowled faintly, her pout stealing away much of its impact.  
    “I loved The Brady Bunch.” She mumbled, lower lip only being reined in when she felt Helena’s fingers brush over her hair.   
    “I find your blush to be rather charming.” H.G. crooned, her voice adopting a low and sultry timbre while remaining at a level that was perfectly within hearing range as she dropped her hand to press the palm against Myka’s warm cheek. Myka’s lips split into a grin and Claudia couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she watched the two women completely and utterly lose themselves in one another. It wasn’t that it was annoying, on the contrary; it was seriously, devastatingly cute, but it happened **a lot**. Like multiple times on a daily basis. One of them could be in the middle of a conversation with someone else and then the other would add their two cents and **somehow** in the midst of talking about entrails or arson or something, they were just gone.   
    “Yeah?” Myka asked quietly, turning not quite shy; coquettish maybe. Her eyes glinted brilliantly, lips curving over her words. “Well, I find your charm kind of charming.” Helena arched a brow as they continued to gaze adoringly at one another; it was so sickly sweet, Claudia felt her teeth ache.  
    “Okay, as much as I was up for discussing none-detailed bedroom habits, I’m not sure I’m ready for a demonstration.” Myka rolled her eyes and plucked Helena’s hand, reluctant to leave its place as it was, from her face, entwining their fingers and resting them atop her thigh. “I call for a subject change.”   
    “Yes, please.” Myka huffed and Helena shot a wry smile in her direction. Claudia sat up, swivelling on the bed to face them fully and crossed her legs beneath her. She rested her elbows against her knees and bowed her upper body forward, bridging her fingers across her nose and regarding the two women studiously.  
    “Karaoke night.” Claudia barely got the words out before Myka tilted her head back and threw an infuriated groan towards the ceiling.   
    “Claude, how many times do I-” The sudden erratic waving of the redhead’s hands cut her off and left her gazing at the younger woman with her mouth half open.   
    “If you’d **listen**.” She said emphatically, drawing the last word out in a way that made Myka’s lips purse. “I’m about to graciously concede to your baffling and kind of violent opposition to such a time-honoured pastime,” Myka snorted a laugh, “but I’m not willing to let the idea of a night of music go quite so easily.” Interest piqued, just a little, Myka jostled her chair around so that she could meet the tech-wiz's gaze without getting a crick in her neck, then planted her elbows on her knees and dropped her chin into her upturned palms.   
    “Fine,” she said, flourishing her hand outward in a wave that gave Claudia the go-ahead. “I’ll humour you.” The younger girl beamed, suddenly becoming a blur of excitement at the acquiescence.   
    “Kay, so here’s my thinking,” she took a breath, held it for a second as she glanced back and forth between the women, and then let it out. “Things have been really crappy lately.” She paused, eyes darting towards H.G. “The sudden reappearance of present company excluded, of course.” Helena’s lips twitched slightly and she gave Claudia a curt nod of her head. “I just feel like after everything we’ve had to deal with,” and she took another breath, this one slightly steadying, “we deserve to unwind a little. Blow off some steam. And I know that I’ve been kind of manic depressive,” Myka’s brow creased at the words, her thoughts turning to Steve Jinks; the young man snatched away in his prime, someone she hadn’t really gotten to know very well, someone Claudia had adored. “But I want that to change. He’d want me to be happy, and I want to be able to be happy.” Claudia dropped her gaze, hand drifting to self-consciously run fingers through her short, brightly streaked hair. “Without feeling guilty about it, you know?” And neither woman said anything, they didn’t need to. They all knew. “So I’m proposing ‘eighties night’. Where there will be music and laughter and maybe those awesome jam-filled pastries things that Leena makes, with **optional** karaoke performances because you know Pete will just pout and whine for a week if he finds out there was even the slightest chance for him to display his ‘mad microphone skills’.” There was a moment of silence and then an almost imperceptible nudge of H.G.’s elbow against Myka’s ribs, and then Myka sighed her agreement with an eye roll and Claudia shot from the bed to envelope the pair of them in an almost neck-crushing hug. “You so totally won’t regret this.” She beamed, as well as she could with her face squished between both older woman's cheeks.  
    Myka was not convinced.

* * *

    Claudia had spent every free moment for the last three days sitting at her computer compiling the ‘perfect’ playlist for the festivities of what she had dubbed ‘Eighties Night Re-visited’, because apparently there had been this one night in Switzerland while she’d been visiting Joshua that had ended with far too many parachute pants-wearing CERN employees lying comatose on the floor of his apartment building. Myka had been informed that it was a long story that Claudia didn’t want to get into and, honestly, she was okay with that.   
    She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d been expecting; tales told about high school parties she hadn’t been invited to had only been able to fuel so much of her imagination and what she walked into on the appointed evening of ‘Eighties Night Re-visited’ was a far cry from the binge drinking and hormone-infused make-out sessions she’d heard her ‘peers’ gush over. Thankfully. No, it was all rather subdued when you considered what Claudia was capable of; it was kind of like an intimate dinner party setting, only without the actual dinner table part and there was a karaoke machine set up at one end of the living room that Myka eyed suspiciously as she entered.  
    “So… when does the Elton John look-a-like get here?” Claudia looked up from her laptop and her face split into a grin.   
    “Are you just pathologically afraid of the eighties or something? Did George Michael and his hot pants permanently scar you in some way?” Folding her arms across her chest, Myka shifted her weight onto one foot and tilted her head as she regarded the redhead, wrinkling her nose.   
    “I’m not pathologically afraid of anything.” A beat. “And it was Boy George.” Claudia chuckled, her fingers becoming a blur as they danced across the keyboard.   
    “All right, no ‘Karma Chameleon’.” She grinned up at Myka again and then sent her eyes towards the vacant space behind the taller woman. “Where’s your lady?” Myka smiled, and it was that small, almost secretive smile that only seemed to make appearances whenever someone spoke of the inventor.  
    “She was scribbling notes across some blueprints that she wouldn’t let me see,” Claudia chuckled, “said she’d be down in a minute.”   
    “Ladies, ladies, ladies!” Pete burst into the room, a multi-coloured blur of feather boas and gigantic bedazzled glasses, and struck a ‘Saturday Night Fever’ pose as he came to a stop between them. “Are you ready to rock?” He paused, brow furrowing a little behind the bright pink glasses that had been shaped into flamingos on either side of the lenses. “Soft-rock?” He straightened, looking thoughtful. “I’d say ‘pop’ but ‘are you ready to pop?’ just has all kinds of innuendo undertones that I don’t-”  
    “Pete.” Myka barked, and the man’s attention snapped to her. She shook her head. “Stop talking.”  
    “Dude, you know the Fever rocked the seventies, right?” Adjusting his feather boa and looping one brilliant orange and yellow end around his neck with a flourish, Pete turned to the youngest employee of Warehouse 13. “And what’s with all the dead and dyed chickens?”  
    “Not unlike the Bee Gees themselves, that movie is timeless. And this,” he flapped a feathered end, “is in homage to perhaps the single greatest thing to come out of that wondrous decade.” He struck another pose, one arm bent at the elbow behind his head with his hand curled into a fist, the other stretched out before him in a kind of freeze-framed fist-pump. “Watcha gonna do when the Hulkster runs wild on **you**?” He half-growled, half-grunted, and then pivoted in his pose so that he was facing Myka. His partner was staring at him, head tilted to the side, with a look of incomprehension clouding her features. Darting his gaze to Claudia, Pete found her wearing a similar expression and, bubble indefinitely burst; he dropped his arms back to his sides. “Hulk Hogan?” Myka blinked at him. “WWF?” When there was still no forthcoming verbal reaction, he spun to face Claudia. “How do **you** not know about this? Weren’t you leg-dropping people from the top of parked cars in your miscreant youth?” Claudia stared up at him and Myka silently shook her head.  
    “I kinda think they would have frowned upon that in the big house.” And by ‘big house’, she meant ‘institution’, and Pete instantly felt like an idiot.  
    “Oh, crap, Claude, I’m so-”  
    “Besides, I always was more of a Piper’s Pit fan.” There was an explosion of noise and then a high-five, neither of which Myka understood, but soft footfalls on the stairs behind her drew her attention away from the now rough-housing agents and any curiosity over what feather boas had to do with half naked men wrestling each other, and what exactly a young and impressionable Claudia was doing watching such potential filth vanished.   
    “Peter, darling, what an odd ensemble you’ve chosen for this evening’s festivities.” Helena sauntered into the room and gave the man a brief once over, accompanied by raised eyebrows, before coming to a stop at Myka’s side. She angled towards the taller woman’s smiling face and pressed a quick kiss to waiting lips. “Is this to mark a permanent change in fashion for him?” She stage whispered and Myka chuckled as she wound an arm around H.G.’s waist.   
    “I hope not.” She was shot a wry and devastatingly charming smile and felt herself flush a little. Briefly, Myka wondered if there would ever come a time when H.G. Wells would no longer render her speechless, or senseless, or reduce her to a sputtering and stumbling fool with little more than a coyly raised eyebrow. She smirked privately as they made their way towards the loveseat. “I really hope not.”

* * *

    H.G. had admitted to finding Madonna rather appealing, in terms of her impact if not the actual music itself. The group as a whole had apparently reached some unanimous and unspoken agreement that whoever was nearest to Helena would take it upon themselves to school her in the trivia surrounding whatever song was playing at the time, and the inventor found her head positively buzzing with the plethora of useless information that had been fed to her. She didn't mind; Myka seemed content to stay close and sacrifice her turn at the mic in favour of informing Helena of the musical milestones of the eighties.   
    That had perhaps been the most enjoyable part of the evening, though she had quietly confessed beneath the thumping beat of the music blaring from Claudia’s supped-up laptop that the lyrics to ‘Like A Virgin’ rang quite close to home. Myka had just stared at her for a moment, grinning like a lovesick teenager, before she forced herself to look away with a rub to the back of her neck and a chuckle. And Pete doing what she'd been told was a rather good impression of someone named Rick Astley had been fun to watch, even if she didn't have the foggiest idea as to who that was. Claudia had assured her however, that that was probably for the better  
    Myka and Helena were discussing the abundant use of synthesizers when the opening beats of a song had Pete almost tripping over his feet in his excitement. He rushed from his spot at the microphone, his apparent perch for the evening, and wobbled to a stop in front of the couch that Claudia and Leena were occupying.  
    “Dance time, ladies!” He announced, rubbing his hands together excitedly. Claudia glanced up at him and archly raised an eyebrow as Leena looked on with a small smile.   
    “My dancing shoes need a breather. We're gonna sit this one out and wait to get out Tina Turner on.” Pete's shoulders slumped.  
    “But this is my song!” Claudia narrowed her eyes at him and swung an arm out to the side, gesturing toward him.  
    “Dude, that's what you've said about, like, the last five!” He turned his pleading puppy-dog eyes on Leena who looked like she might just crack under the pressure for all of half a second before her smiled widened and she shook her head.  
    “I'm with Claudia on this one.” Groaning aloud, Pete threw his head back.  
    “Almighty Eighties Gods, why have you forsaken me?” He called towards the ceiling, turning as he did so, and then abruptly halted as his head came back down and his eyes fell on Myka. “Mykes!” Startled, his partner's attention flickered confusedly about the room for an instant before she stopped looking through him and finally saw him. “You gotta dance with me.”   
    “Pete, for the thousandth time-”  
    “You have to! This is my song! I swear I'll leave you alone after this one.” He interrupted, clasping his hands together in a pleading motion in front of his chest and pressing the tips of his index fingers to his nose. “Please, please, please?” And he knew he had her when she rolled her big green eyes like that. He fist-pumped the air and then reached out to grab her hand, pulling her out into the centre of the room before she had chance to rethink her decision.   
    Watching them, Helena couldn't help but find it all rather adorable. Pete was doing the majority of the leg work as Myka remained content to more or less simply dance on the spot, only really exerting herself when Pete grabbed hold of her hands and held them. Then they did a kind of dance she wasn't at all familiar with and mainly involved stepping forward and then back again, sometimes from side to side, and now and then Pete threw in a spin for some flare. And as much as she may have denied it, Myka's movements belied her repeated insistence that she had two left feet; she actually moved rather gracefully, and Helena suspected that all one need do would be to put a weapon in her hand and the agent would be quite comfortable indeed.   
    Laughter broke her short reverie, pure and happy, and Helena blinked to find Pete mouthing the words of the song to Myka as she grinned at his antics. Loose curls flying as he spun her whilst singing “you're my lady, I'm your fool” and Helena felt her own smile widen at the sight.  
    She'd had many friendships in her life, though looking back she supposed the majority of them were more of an acquaintanceship. She'd never had a 'Pete' or a 'Claudia', she most definitely had not had a 'Myka', and although her dear old Wolley had proven to be quite irreplaceable, it was times such as these that made Helena realise that not only had she gained the greatest friends she'd ever know, she'd also gained a family. Something which she'd thought lost to her forever. And to think, she'd come so very close to losing that, to losing all of them. First to madness born from a century locked inside her own mind and then to death, though she had already acknowledged the fact that she'd gladly give her life once more should, heaven forbid, a similar situation arise.  
    And that had been quite the revelation, and one she would keep to herself.   
    Helena had missed out on so very much, that was true, but she was certain that none of it could compare to the things she had gained.  
    As the song came to an end and Pete took the opportunity to sweep Myka into a low dip, Helena sighed and allowed the feeling of contentment to settle itself, spreading to all corners of her body. It didn't matter whether or not she felt she deserved such happiness, to find such peace, because when brilliant green fell upon her like they did when Myka was finally released from Pete's grasp and turned to face the inventor, it made Helena believe that maybe, someday, she'd be worthy of such a look. Worthy of the happiness she'd found. Because somehow, Myka made Helena believe in herself.   
    “What is a 'jitterbug', exactly?” She heard herself ask in the lull between songs. Pete lifted a hand to scratch idly at his chin, gaze turning contemplative.  
    “I always kind of imagined a dancing ladybug.” Claudia and Myka laughed in unison and his partner bumped his shoulder with her own as she chuckled.  
    “It's a term used to describe swing dancers, or a type of swing dance.” She clarified, grinning at Pete's crestfallen face.   
    “No dancing insects?” He asked, and Myka threw a playful pout over her shoulder at him as she made her way back towards her vacant seat. The next song started and Myka halted before the time traveller, hand outstretched as she grinned at Helena's befuddled expression.  
    “I think it's time you show me your dance moves, Wells.” She said, eyes sparkling as Helena raised a lone, shapely eyebrow.   
    “Indeed?” With an exaggerated sigh, Helena slid her hand into Myka's and allowed herself to be hauled to her feet. “Then I fear I must warn you, Agent Bering,” and then with movements a little too rapid for Myka to follow, she pulled the taller woman towards her, turning them as she did so, and then manoeuvred Myka into a dip of her own. Startled by the motion, Myka grabbed a fistful of her dipper's shirt and let out a burst of laughter that stretched Helena's lips into a wide smile. “Prepare to be dazzled.”


End file.
